Ten Years of Escalation: From an Escalator to the Edge of Civil War

White Supremacy, Stochastic Terror, and the GOP’s Descent Into Open Fascism

Opinion by Editor-At-Large: Aisha K. Staggers

It’s been ten years since Donald Trump descended that gilded escalator and declared that Mexicans were rapists, kickstarting a campaign fueled by white grievance, racial scapegoating, and lies. The next day, a young white supremacist walked into Mother Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina, sat through Bible study, and then executed nine Black parishioners. Among them was State Senator Clementa Pinckney—a rising star in South Carolina politics whose life was cut short in a massacre that was both a hate crime and a political assassination.

It’s tempting to treat these events as separate: one a launch of a political campaign, the other an act of racial terrorism. But they were linked by something much deeper: a shared belief in white dominance and a violent reaction to the changing face of American power. What we have witnessed in the ten years since is not just a rise in extremism, but a mainstreaming of political violence—and we are now living with its consequences.

The details of past weekend’s violence—still unfolding, still too raw—tell us this tragedy didn’t come from nowhere. It is the inevitable outcome of a decade of permission, provocation, and political protection for those who believe violence is a legitimate means of reclaiming the country they believe is being “stolen” from them. The signs have always been there. They were in the tiki torches of Charlottesville, in the zip ties of January 6, in the countless bomb threats to libraries and synagogues and Planned Parenthood clinics. They’re in the governors and members of Congress who openly carry weapons in campaign ads, who talk about “real Americans” and “traitors,” and who have stopped condemning violence because their base no longer sees it as wrong.

Let’s be clear: the Republican Party (and its MAGA base) has become a breeding ground for stochastic terrorism. The kind of rhetoric Trump unleashed in 2015 wasn’t new, but it had never before been delivered with such impunity from a presidential frontrunner—then a nominee, then a president, and now a twice-impeached felon back in office. The results are not theoretical. They are measurable. Hate crimes surged under his presidency. Mass shootings targeting Black, Jewish, Asian, LGBTQ+, and immigrant communities have followed his speeches like clockwork. People are dying because the temperature has been raised so high that political disagreement now feels like a warzone.

And that’s because, in many ways, it is.

Political violence doesn’t always look like civil war—but the ingredients are the same: a breakdown of shared truth, dehumanization of the opposition, the arming of civilians, and the erosion of democratic norms. We’ve now had sitting members of Congress caught aiding insurrectionists, governors threatening to defy federal courts, and elected officials openly mocking the victims of political violence on social media. The GOP has gone from dog whistles to bullhorns to outright threats—and the bodies continue to pile up.

This didn’t start with Trump. But he made it profitable. He made it popular. He made it patriotic. And, let's be honest, he just makes it worse!

The most devastating part is that so many Americans still don’t see this for what it is. They’re still looking for lone wolves instead of systems. They’re still talking about "mental health" instead of white supremacy. They are still saying, “it doesn't happen here,” while it happens everywhere. They’re still hoping we can vote our way out of fascism, while refusing to acknowledge that it's already inside the house.

When Clementa Pinckney was murdered, President Obama gave a eulogy that reminded the country what grace looked like in the face of horror. He sang “Amazing Grace” and called for gun reform and racial reckoning. It was a moment of national mourning, yes—but also a warning. That warning was ignored and the violence continued.

Today, the flag like that which covered Pinckney’s coffin has been replaced with the banners of hate and treason. Prayer circles have turned into protest barricades. And once again, the violence is political—because the political moment we are in is violent. Trump isn’t just stoking the flames from the sidelines; he is the president again—this time without guardrails, without shame, and without the pretense of democratic restraint. The violence isn’t incidental. It’s embedded. And if we don’t confront it now, we may not get the chance to do so again.

Look at Minnesota this past weekend: on June 14, a gunman impersonating a police officer broke into the homes of Minnesota Democrats. He fatally shot House Speaker Melissa Hortman and her husband in Brooklyn Park, then severely wounded State Senator John Hoffman and his wife in Champlin—wounding Hoffman nine times and his wife eight times. Authorities later discovered a homemade "hit list" in the shooter’s vehicle, targeting nearly 70 abortion providers, Democratic officials, and community leaders. A massive manhunt ensued across rural Minnesota and the Twin Cities, the largest in state history. That same day, millions attended "No Kings" protests across the country defying warnings to stay home. While overwhelmingly peaceful, the rallies underscored the gravity of the threat in broader American politics. Instead of honoring the lives lost that day, Donald Trump held a military birthday parade for himself (the 250th anniversary of the army was a red herring).

Minnesota isn’t just a tragic outlier—it is a sixth-grade exam in the violent civics Trump has authored. Extremism disguised in uniforms; manifestos hidden in trunks; elected officials hunted because of their beliefs. And a president who categorizes the act as horrific—but refuses to contact grieving state leaders, instead calling the governor "whacked out."

This is the new normal: political violence exported from fringe conspiracy groups into homes, into votes, into Washington, and into your neighborhood. And the engine behind it is no longer a distant echo—you can hear it rumbling down Pennsylvania Avenue.

We are not on the brink of authoritarian violence—we are in it. We have been in it. The question now is not whether political violence will escalate. It is whether Americans still believe enough in democracy to resist it, to name it, and to fight like hell against it. Because if we treat these assassinations, insurrections, and hate-fueled rampages as isolated incidents, we will continue to lose elected leaders, vulnerable communities, and our moral compass one funeral at a time. The alarm has been ringing for ten years. If we keep hitting snooze, we will wake up to find that we slept right through the coup.